


Take Good Care of Yourself

by Redrikki



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 3 Things, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 02 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7012183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 2 finale, three people who visited Jack Thompson in the hospital and one who never made it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Good Care of Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/gifts).



1\. _Button up your overcoat_

It was a rather terrible sort of deja vu. This was the second time this month that Peggy had stood, watching a friend struggle for life in a hospital bed. First Ana, now Jack. The blood loss had left them both with the same queerly transparent skin, but Ana hadn’t looked nearly this bad. There had been a blush of color to her cheeks, but Jack’s looked like curdled milk and there was a bluish cast to his lips.

“Do you realize, we were kissing while he was being shot?” Peggy asked as she smoothed down the blanket. She felt a tad ridiculous fussing over him but, unlike Ana, Jack didn’t have anyone else here to do it.

Her hand stilled as Daniel’s covered it. “So, what are you saying, Peg?” he asked. “You think Jack got shot because we kissed?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Peggy brushed off the question and his hand to resume her work ensuring that Jack was properly covered. “It was recently pointed out to me that when I become…invested…in a case, people I care about tend to get caught in the crossfire.”

Daniel sighed and slumped down onto the edge of Jack’s bed. “Well, you want to know what I think? I think it’s not about you. This,” he gestured to their still and silent friend, a pained expression flitting across his face, “this is about Jack. He made a choice to help us cross Vernon and do the right thing. Choices have consequences.” 

The words hit her like a punch to the solar plexus. Peggy could recall saying something rather similar to Steve during the war. It was just as true today as when she’d said it back in that ruined bar, but respecting the choices of one's loved ones was a good deal harder than it sounded when the consequences were so dire. At least, for now, Jack would live through them, unlike Steve and Barnes. 

Peggy took a deep, bracing breath. “You’re quite right. Choices have consequences.” She didn’t smile, exactly, so much as bare her teeth. “Lets show those bastards just what those consequences are.”

Daniel’s answering smile was positively vulpine. “Now you’re talking.”

 

2\. _Get to bed by three_

“Rose?” Chief Thompson’s weak and hoarse voice pulled her out of her book. He’d been sleeping her entire shift. Leave it to him to wake up just as she was getting to the good part. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m your protection detail,” Rose explained as she set her book aside. “Water?” she offered, reaching for the waiting glass on the bedside table. 

Chief Thompson nodded and attempted to lever himself up. The color drained from his face and he fell back against the pillow with a groan. “Here, let me help.” Rose held him up to let him drink. It was more than a little awkward holding him to her bosom while she tried not to dump the entire glass down his throat in one go. Thank god she was a secret agent. She never would have made it as a nurse. 

Thompson licked the last of the water off his lips as Rose laid him back down. “Protection?” he asked, his gaze flitting nervously around the room.

“In case the shooter tries again.” At least, that was the official story. She suspected Peggy and the Chief just didn’t want Thompson to be alone when he woke up…or if he died.

Thompson blinked up at her in owlish confusion. “Aren’t you the secretary?”

Rose sighed tiredly. It would sure be nice if her male colleagues didn’t automatically assume she was only good for buffing her nails and answering the phone. “I’m a fully trained field agent,” she reminded him gently. She’d proved herself to Chief Sousa, taking out Frost’s goons at Roxxon and managing that twerp Samberly. Maybe the assassin would give her a chance to show Thompson exactly what she was good at. 

“They trust you,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself. He smiled drowsily, his eyes drifting shut. “Feel safer already.” 

The funny thing was, Rose was pretty sure he actually meant it.

 

3\. _When you sass a traffic cop, use diplomacy_

“You look like hell,” Jack told Daniel as he slumped into the chair beside the bed.

Funny he should mention that considering Daniel felt like hell too. In the three days since Jack had been shot, Daniel had barely managed to scrape together eight non-consecutive hours of sleep. Daniel was sure that, if he’d had time to shave this morning, he would have seen bags under the bags under his reflection' eyes. “You’re one to talk,” he quipped even though Jack actually looked a lot better than the last time Daniel had seen him. Death warmed over was a big step up from corpse.

Jack’s amused snort ended in a pained grunt. “I got shot. What’s your excuse?” 

“You got shot.”

Jack pressed his hand to his chest with a wince. He took a deep, shuddering breath which seemed to hurt more than help. Were they giving him enough morphine? There hadn’t been enough morphine in the world when Daniel lost his leg. Daniel started to push himself up to call the nurse when Jack waved him back down. “‘M Fine. It’s fine.” he gasped. He gritted his teeth and rode it out. “Any leads?” Jack asked once he had the pain back under control.

Daniel sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wished he had something to tell him but, the investigation was slow going. The mess with Vernon had left Daniel with just three agents he actually trusted, and neither Rose nor Samberly had any investigative experience. There were only so many times he could put Stark’s butler in the field before it got ridiculous. 

“Jeez, that bad?”

Daniel shrugged. “Well, it’s not like there’s a shortage of people who’d want to shoot you.” The only thing they could be sure of was that the shooter wasn’t anyone from the L.A office, mostly because they’d all been in custody at the time. That still left Whitney Frost’s former goons, Vernon Master’s buddies from the FBI, Russian agents, and anyone else Jack had managed to piss off with his winning personality. 

Jack made as if to sit up and then thought better of it. He made a frustrated noise and thumped the bed with his fist. “I just wish I’d seen the shooter. It had to be someone from the Arena Club. The key. Vernon’s files.”

“Wait,” Daniel leaned forward eagerly. “What key? What files?”

“I took Vernon’s files. I had them in my suitcase.”

Except they hadn’t been there. They’d found Jack’s suitcase open on the bed. It had had a couple changes of clothes, toothbrush, shaving kit, and a gun, but no files. This was the break they needed and if Jack had died, they wouldn’t have even known to look. “Someone’s cleaning up after Vernon’s mess.”

Jack tutted and shook his head. “I can’t believe it,” he said with his cockiest smirk. “I get shot and I still end up having to do all the work.”

Daniel scoffed. That wasn’t how he remembered things back in the New York office. Oh, Jack had pulled his own weight, but they both knew who really got things done. “Yeah, it’s quite the change up,” Daniel drawled sarcastically. “Say, if you’re doing all the work, does that mean I get to claim all the credit?”

Jack’s smile was just rueful enough to let Daniel know he’d hit the mark. “Yeah, sure. If Carter doesn’t beat you to it.”

 

+1 _Don’t sit on hornet’s tails, ooh, ooh_

Dottie dodged the first swing of Peggy’s handbag, but stumbled back as she caught the second upside her head. There was something so exhilarating about fighting her. In the Red Room, Dottie had been trained to think of violence as a dance, a beautiful ballet that ended with someone broken on the ground. Peggy, by contrast, fought like bar room brawler, striking hard and fast and equally as likely to use a bar stool as her fists. You never knew what she was going to weaponize next.

Peggy swung again and this time Dottie blocked it with her left hand, even as she hammered into the other woman’s ribs with her right. She responded with a kick to Dottie’s knee that sent agony shooting up her leg as she stumbled to the ground. It was strange, but Peggy seemed angrier than usual for some reason. Oh, of course Dottie knew the agent would come after her, but they’d parted on such good terms. 

“Did you do it?” Peggy demanded as she loomed over Dottie like some vengeful goddess. 

“Do what?” Dottie asked distractedly as she tried to pull herself up. There was definitely something wrong with her knee. Not broken, but almost certainly dislocated. Ugh, she wasn’t looking forward to fixing that. Relocating joints was the worst. 

“Try to kill Chief Thompson!” 

For a brief moment, Dottie thought about saying yes. Would vengeance make their little cat-and-mouse game more fun or just more vicious? Still, the idea that she would flub a simple assassination rankled. “Peg, I’m hurt. If I wanted him dead, he would be.”

Peggy flashed her a smile that was nearly a snarl and slammed into her. The back of Dottie’s head collided with the pavement in a shower of stars. By the time her vision cleared, Peggy was sitting in her chest, pinning Dottie’s arms to the ground with her knees. “Good,” Peggy said, “because you are going to help me destroy the people responsible. Starting,” she brandished something slim and shinny, “with them.”

In her dazed state, it took Dottie a second to recognize it. It was the Arena Club tie pin she’d stolen in New York. It was the key. A slow smile began to spread across her face. She and Peggy were going to burn down the Arena Club. They were going to burn down the whole system and, when they were done, they were going to burn down each other. Dottie could hardly wait. “When do we start?”

**Author's Note:**

> Title and interstitials from "Button Up Your Overcoat."


End file.
